A Collection of Short Stories
by clouisewise
Summary: I'm going to pile all my DA drabbles here so that, at the very least, they can all be found in one place. They'll be mostly F!Hawke/Isabela, but maybe I'll throw some other ships in there if I get enough requests/desire. Enjoy !
1. She Told Me Not To

*These will be mostly unrelated and probably mostly terrible. Enjoy!

Bioware owns everything, including all of my freetime and most of my paychecks.

* * *

You'd always been a little self conscious of your scars - most of them were large and rather angry looking, earned in battles you'd rather not remember with people you have trouble recalling, and you have spent a lot of time over the years doing whatever you could to conceal them. Even from friends and would-be lovers. Even from Isabela. She, of course, would have no part of you hiding a piece of yourself, especially from her, and upon her first glimpse of the large scar that runs between your shoulder blades, she demanded a closer look.

There is no arguing with a pirate, she insisted.

She, as per usual, was right.

She has scars too, you noticed in the days and weeks to come, though most of hers are ones you cannot see or touch. She has a small one on her neck, from a slaver's threatening dagger held a breath too close, and another slightly larger one on her arm (which she has a colorful tale about, full of angry sailors and a lurching sea and, as if it surprised you at all, her with her ass in the air), but the most noticeable scar is the one that makes her leave your bedchambers as soon as the coupling is said and done.

"I think I'm in love with you", you say one late afternoon after the two of you had stumbled back to your Hightown estate from The Hanged Man - you were never one for drinking in the daylight (not since a particular early afternoon back in Lothering when your mother had caught you and a boy from the city preparing for a drunken roll in the hay in the tall grass outside your peaceful home, and you can still hear her scolding in your ears even now - "Most people wait until nightfall for such distasteful activities, young lady!", she had all but screamed as she threw your tunic at you), but on this particular day the city of Kirkwall was surprisingly peaceful and Isabela insisted that the two of you needed a proper a day off. A proper day off, in Isabela's book, consisted of drinking too much whisky and cheating the dock workers out of their hard-earned coin.

There really is no arguing with a pirate.

You say it quietly, and mostly to the pillow your face is buried in - Isabela has already risen, planting a soft kiss on your crown before padding around the room to retrieve her discarded clothing and haphazardly removed weapons. When she doesn't reply, you risk the glance up to where you had last heard the shuffling of her bare feet on the cool floor; she had stopped dead in her tracks in the center of your room, naked except for the gold labret piercing glinting in the firelight and a furrowed brow. Embarrassed, you quickly sit up and ignore the sheet as it falls from your chest, thinking that you might be able to redeem yourself if you force your still-lightheaded brain to force out a witty add-on.

The words die on your lips as the chill hits you, however. Even now - your dignity and pride and quite possibly even Isabela herself on the line - you can't help but appreciate how beautiful she is. In the firelight of your chambers, her olive skin is practically glowing and her eyes seem to catch every ember. You swallow down the pathetic excuses you had wrapped your tongue around and opt for admiring every curve of her body in silence, worshiping it without a word, holding it reverent without a single prayer.

"You're _kidding_", she says, a look of abject horror suddenly falling over her. "_Please_ tell me that you're kidding, Hawke."

You offer another silent prayer, a thank you to the Maker for the way she cocks her hip and places a hand on it. You thank the Maker for granting you eyesight just good enough to see the way the muscles in her stomach and thighs flex as she writhes around nervously under your gaze. Your mouth still refusing to work, you smile at her and shrug.

_How clever_, you think bitterly. _This is going well._

Abandoning the few items of clothing she had managed to find, she makes her way over to the bed on still unsteady legs (on any other day you would make a snide comment on your rather remarkable ability to bring the well-traveled captain to such a state of exhaustion - not today, however, not now) before sitting down heavily on the mattress. You slowly crawl across the bed on all floors and extend a timid hand to touch her - she does not pull away as you feared she would, so you lay in gently on her shoulder.

"You goose", she says quietly, shaking her head.

"That I am." You adjust so that you can position yourself behind the pirate with your arms wrapped around her bare middle. Her back is smooth and warm, practically smoldering against your own pale skin, and for a brief moment you wonder if her dark skin can actually capture the rays of the sun and store them to create such heat. "I am a goose for loving you, then?", you whisper in her ear as you place your head on her shoulder, relishing in the warmth as it radiates through your cheek.

"I_ told_ you not to."

"That you did", you agree. "I don't listen very well, if you haven't noticed."

"No… you certainly do not." Isabela turns her head to place a soft kiss to your temple. You close your eyes and breathe her in for a second, and are half prepared when she raises out of your grasp. Much to your surprise, however, she turns to look at you with a sheepish smile before placing a hand on your shoulder and pushing you back against the bed - she climbs on top of you in a practiced movement, a knee on either side of your hips, holding her lips just a breath away from yours, so close you feel the warm breath on your face, coming out in shallow pants. Slowly, without looking away from you, she raises a long finger and traces the jagged scar over your heart - the scar from the sharpened pommel of the Arishok's axe as it hit perfectly between two plates of your armor. The scar you earned when you refused to let the Qunari take their thief away across the ocean. When you refused to let them take Isabela away from you.

"I was always_ terrible_ at taking my own advice, Hawke."


	2. Eavesdropping

Hi I wrote this after not sleeping for 2 days and its probably terrible and riddled with errors/mistakes/general bullshit and I'm sorry in advance. ENJOY~!

ps I live in an alternate universe where Bioware isn't constantly trying to rip our hearts out. So, Bethany and Carver are both alive. SUCK IT, BIOWARE.

* * *

You never liked to bring people to Gamlen's place in Lowtown; it was old and dirty and smelt of spoiling cheese, and there was hardly enough room for the twins, Mother, Gamlen, _and_ yourself, not to mention your poor mabari. Adding another person to the hovel was simply _asking _for the creaking floors to collapse under your feet.

On this particular evening, however, Isabela had decided to start a drunken brawl with a group of raiders at The Hanged Man and gotten herself 'asked to leave' for the remainder of the night. With nowhere else to go, you refused to let her sleep in the back alley like she had originally intended and offered up your bunk at Gamlen's – it had actually worked out for all of you, as Gamlen had told you earlier in the day that he would be 'out' for the evening (which meant he would be handing the coin he owes to thugs to the _fine_ women at The Blooming Rose), which meant that mother would be occupying the top bunk. The two of you have been sharing a bunk for some time now, and you are happy she'll get to spread out a little bit more with Gamlen gone. You'd been happy to enjoy spreading out as well, but its not as if you would be able to sleep knowing that Isabela was sleeping in some back alley where Maker knows what could happen to her.

_Besides... the further she is from the way Isabela gets when she drunks, the better_, you think. The lot of you knew how rowdy your dear friend Isabela could get when she was drinking, and it was hardly something you wanted to introduce your mother to.

"You just wanted to take me home", the pirate slurs as you and Carver practically carry her through Lowtown, Bethany follows close behind with an armful of Isabela's belongings, giggling to herself as the pirate rambles on drunkenly through the streets of the slums. "I _know_ your dirty tricks, Hawke. We could have just done it in the alley if you wanted it _that_ badly. There's a perfectly good barrel back there for you to sit that adorable ass on while I–"

"_Maker_, 'Bela", Bethany interrupts from behind you, and begins to giggle even harder at Carver's frustrated groans.

"Let's just get her inside, shall we? She's taking_ your_ bed though, Sister. I won't lose sleep over _your_ decision to invite her to Uncle's hovel."

"I'll sleep in the main room", you agree, adjusting your grip on the wrist of the arm that Isabela has slung over your shoulder as she continues to mumble about what could be happening in the alley if you were so inclined to request it. You're thankful that the darkness is hiding the deep red blush you're sure to be sporting. "If I die of cold or rats however, I'm blaming _you_, Carver."

When you finally get back to Gamlen's, Carver decides to be of little help as usual and crawls straight into the bunk he and Bethany share. Bethany helps you clean Isabela up a little, wiping the vomit of unknown origin off of her face and out of her hair before changing her clothes and leading her to the bottom bunk and gently laying her down. You bid the two of them goodnight, hugging Bethany and planting a kiss on Isabela's warm cheek before excusing yourself to the main room. It took a while for you to get comfortable by the fire, but by the time you finally did you thought that perhaps you should leave a glass of water next to the bed for Isabela. Without it, the pirate is sure to have a pounding headache tomorrow, which means she will refuse to join you for your daily rounds of the city. Which means you'll be forced to find a replacement for her. Which means you'll have to get a hold of _Fenris_.

Which is _not_ an option.

Groaning, you drag your tired bones up off the floor and fill an old mug with water. You are just about to slowly open the door when you hear murmurs and soft voices coming through the cracks in the wood, and quietly press your face against one of them to find out who in the world is chatting at such an ungodly hour.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room, but when they do you can just scarcely make out Isabela's taut form on the bottom bunk of the bed, and Bethany sitting on the floor next to her. It's hard to make out what Bethany is doing, but from what you can tell she is simply rubbing the pirate's back slowly as she mumbles into the thin pillow beneath her head.

"Shh", Bethany coos as she continues to rub circles on the small of Isabela's back with the palm of her hand. "You'll make yourself sick again if you don't relax, 'Bela."

Isabela murmurs something you can't quite hear, and you see a smile pull at Bethany's lips.

"I don't think she minds. She offered you the bed, you know. She would rather sleep with the dog than know you're sleeping behind the tavern tonight."

Isabela rolls over slowly; Bethany is sitting in the way, but you can make out the slow rise and fall of her chest and the gentle curve of her hip in the lantern-lit room. You push down your desire to barge into the room and ravage her completely – you had almost forgotten your vow to stop taking advantage of Isabela when she finds herself in such... inebriated conditions. You _are_ finding it difficult, you have to admit; she is in these conditions quite often.

"Tell me 'bout Hawke", you hear the pirate slur quietly, "before you came to Kirkwall."

Bethany laughs. "What could you like to know?"

"She's just... so... what's the bloody word? Uh... _Heroic_. Yes. Has she always been like that?"

"Yes", Carver interjects from the bunk above. You had no idea that he was still awake, and judging by the way Bethany jumps slightly at the sound of his deep voice, neither did she.

"It's true", Bethany agrees, "Even when we were children, she always took care of Carver and I."

"And Mother and Father, too. She's always taken care of _all_ of us."

"But what was she _like_?" You see Isabela sit up slightly, then suddenly lower herself back onto the thin pillow in what you can only assume in a bought of dizziness. "In Ferelden. In Lothering. Tell me about her."

"She liked to play practical jokes on us", Carver starts. "Bethany likes to tell people that I nailed her braid to the bed once, which is true. But once our sister took the downy out of all of our pillows and replaced it with stolen hay from the farm up the road of ours."

"No one could figure out why we were all so itchy! Mother was convinced that the dog had brought fleas into the house, and made the poor hound sleep outside for days."

"Then one day Father had enough and cut his pillow clean open with a dagger." Carver laughs, full and hearty, much more genuine than you've head since the four of you had come to Kirkwall. "You should have seen his face when mounds of hay had fallen out! I thought Mother was going to beat our sister half to death."

"What was it she had said, Carver? When Mother was scolding her?"

"That she did it because she thought we would all appreciate _fuller_ pillows."

"Mother and Father were furious, of course, but I don't think that anyone was more upset than the farmer up the road who had been punishing his _own_ children for _weeks_ because of the armfuls of missing hay."

Isabela laughs with them, and the chorus the three of them make is loud enough that you consider interrupting them just to keep them from waking Mother up. Luckily, Isabela quietly interjects with another slurred question before it comes to that.

"And what of boys?", she asks. "Did she ever have a boy she was sweet on?"

"What you mean to ask, 'Bela, is '_has our sister bedded before we came to Kirkwall_', right?"

"Well. Yes."

You pull your face away from the door and gasp silently at the Bethany's boldness – you had never spoken of other lovers with your siblings when you were all in Lothering, and with good reason! You had always felt as if Bethany needed protecting, always keeping her away from the less-that-virtuous boys of the village and shielding her from any inappropriate stories or situations that she may find, and you knew that if Carver had ever found out about you being sweet on _anyone_ – boy _or_ girl – you would never hear the end of it. And Maker forbid that he knew_ them_!

"Oh she has _certainly_ bedded before. But I don't know if she was ever particularly sweet on any of them. Those poor boys in town would fall all over themselves for her, but she would have no part of it. They would follow her around when she went into town for food or supplies, and she would come home with _armfuls_ of flowers and gifts."

"Sounds familiar", Isabela says. You can hear the smile pulling at her lips.

"There _was _one girl...", Carver says quietly. "She never talked about it, you know, but I know that something happened between them. It was the year before the Blight, and it was summer – hot as ever in Lothering, the air as thick as thieves, and she would go to the lake almost every day with this girl that worked at the tavern in town. And I swear she would come back practically _covered_ in hickeys. Don't you remember, Bethany? She would wear petticoats for _days_, in the heat of the summer! Mother and Father thought her mad!"

"I do remember! She looked as if she would die of heat exhaustion at any moment, and when she was asked why she was wearing them, she always said 'I don't feel well today'. That seems like a lifetime ago now, doesn't it?"

"I will never forget the look on Father's face when she had brought that girl over and _demanded_ that the two of them be left alone for the evening. He had come outside scratching his head, and said to me, 'Carver, my boy... women are strange. Don't you ever forget it'. The girl though... Maker, she was _beautiful_. Dark red hair, with these big green eyes. Her name was... oh, Andraste's _tits_. What was her _name_? I can't remember it."

"Bella! Oh _Maker_, I remember her now. Her name was Bella. She moved to Redcliff in the middle of the summer, and our sister was _devastated_. She locked herself in her room for _days_ after she had left, and when she finally came out if was as if nothing had happened. No one ever spoke of it again."

"Hawke? _Devastated_?", Isabela questions, "I can scarcely picture it."

Carver makes a noise from his bunk, and you wish that you could see his face to make out when it is supposed to mean. "You wouldn't guess it by looking at her, you know, but she _does_ care. Probably _too much_, if you ask me. She likes to act as if everything just bounces off of her, but I know she takes a piece of every little thing that happens to us with her. I wish she wouldn't – it can't be healthy to be that concerned all the time, can it?"

"If she didn't care as much as she did, Carver, where would we be? We might have still been in Lothering when the darkspawn took the village. Or we might be in the Gallows right now. And what of Mother? Without our sister working as much as she did after Father died, how would we have clothed ourselves? Paid our debts? _Eaten_?"

"You're right, you're right", your brother agrees, and your ears ring slightly at his admittance. Those are certainly words you never thought you would hear Carver say to Bethany. "She's loud. And crass. _And_ she's a messy eater. She always 'forgets' to save me a slice of pie, and she jokes far too much."

"_And_ she can be a complete wretch", Bethany adds on.

"But... she's our sister. She would drop anything and everything to help almost anyone. She likes to make some coin for helping of course, but we all know that if a person asked for her help and had no coin to offer, she would still do it."

"You would never guess by talking to her", Isabela says quietly. "She's all wit and charm and jokes. I don't think I've _ever_ heard her say a single serious thing. But then she goes out and fights bandits and slavers and blighted _blood mages_ to protect a city that has done little but throw dirt in her face."

"That's our sister", Carver says. "I don't always agree with her." Bethany snorts. "Okay, I almost _never _agree with her. But she's always put us first, and she's a good woman. She's going to do great things someday, if she doesn't get herself bloody killed trying to keep the peace _or_ thrown in the Gallows by the templars."

"If any bastard tries to kill her I'll rope him to the bow of my ship and use him as bait", a slurred response comes, followed by a yawn. "And I wouldn't hesitate to break her sorry ass out of the Gallows. Damn those blighted templars. They are nothing that a few good blades couldn't fix."

You can tell that Isabela is finally beginning to drift off, and step away from the door just in time to hear both Bethany and Carver pledge to help with your hypothetical rescue. Settling for placing the mug on the table with a scribbled note for Isabela to read in the morning when she is sure to try to make a hasty exit, you lower yourself back onto the floor in front of the fire and close your eyes.

Despite the cold coming through the creaky floorboards, and the dog softly snoring next to you, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.


End file.
